Freedom
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: Harry is feeling overwhelmed after the war. A chat with Charlie gives him a reason to believe freedom might just be within reach. Pre-slash.


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise, it all belongs to people much smarter, and much richer than I. **

**A/N - Written for a variety of challenges and competitions, this was supposed to end with a quick fumble between Harry and Charlie, a one night stand kinda thing, you know. Instead, it turned into... this. Either way, I hope you enjoy, and if you do, keep an eye out for a sequel :)**

**Written For - **

**The Fault In Our Stars Competition with the prompt - That's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt. **

**Hunger Games Competition - District 8 - A Gryffindor**

**Disney Character Competition - Baloo - Charlie Weasley **

**Wand Wood Competition - Chestnut - Charlie Weasley **

**Birthday Competition - January - Birthstone - A Weasley **

**Animal Competition - Beaver - The Burrow **

**The Variety of Prompts Challenge - Harry Potter related Words - Butterbeer **

**Word Count Without A/N - 1065**

* * *

**Freedom**

Harry didn't want to be here. He wanted to be anywhere _but_ here. But they were his friends, his family, and he had to be here for them. Never before had the Burrow felt small, so uninviting, so unwelcoming. Harry knew that they all wanted him here, but he felt somewhat like an intruder, an outsider muscling in on time that should be spent without interruptions.

Ron and Hermione huddled together in a chair, Hermione offering comfort only she could. Molly and Arthur, Bill and Fleur, both couples grieved openly, but together. Ginny sat with Percy, comforting a brother she once raged about in this very house.

George...

Harry couldn't even look at George. The pain, so obvious in everything he did, was tangible. Harry wondered how George would cope when half of him had been buried six feet in the ground only that morning. He sat alone, a picture that was wrong in so many ways, a bottle of Firewhiskey at his side. He wasn't even pretending to use a glass.

Harry couldn't cope with the intense feelings of despair, he wanted to run, hide away somewhere nobody would find him, he wanted to scream and cry, rage at the unforgiving world for being so cruel to a family that were nothing but Angels on earth.

He slipped through the doorway silently, and walked slowly around the garden, looking everywhere but at the freshly lain dirt that covered the ebony wood coffin of Fred. The gravestone would be placed in a few days, and Harry knew it would stand out on the, until now, unblemished landscape of the garden.

Tears filled Harry's eyes, but he refused to let the fall. He had no right to cry, not when George had lost his twin, when Arthur and Molly had lost their son. When Ron and Bill and Ginny and Charlie and Percy had all lost their brother.

Harry had no right to feel the pain he was feeling.

xxxx

Sitting down at the edge of the small pond, Harry wondered what would happen now. The funerals, so many funerals, were over. Life would start moving forward, people would start moving on. Where was Harry's place in the rebuilding of life? His life had been all consumed by Voldemort for so long, that now, he had no idea what his place in the world was. Or if he even had one anymore.

"Sickle for your thoughts?"

Harry jumped, spinning his head so fast his neck cricked, to see who had followed him out. Charlie stood behind him holding out a bottle of Butterbeer to Harry.

"Thanks," Harry said, though it came out as more of a gruff whisper, taking the bottle. Charlie sat down on the grass beside him, neither speaking, thought the silence wasn't uncomfortable.

"How are you?" Harry asked after a while, silently scolding himself for the question before he had even finished speaking it. "I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to ask."

"I'm... I'll be alright."

Harry nodded, not really knowing what to sat.

"How are you holding up?" Charlie asked, turning slightly so he was facing Harry.

Harry shrugged. He didn't know how he was feeling about anything. Everything still seemed so fresh, so harsh, so painful all the time.

Charlie seemed to understand.

"That's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt," he said quietly, and Harry nodded in agreement. It was a true sentiment if Harry had ever heard one, and it echoed in his mind.

"It sounds... harsh, maybe, but it hasn't hit me as hard as the others," Charlie said after a moment, and Harry could hear the underlying guilt in his tone. "Fred... I love my brother, truly, I love all my siblings, but, I don't _know_ them, you know. I see them for a week or so every few years, and even then, I spend most of my time in England with Bill. I... I don't feel like I belong in there."

"You do belong, Charlie. Regardless of whether they see you or not, you're still family, and they all love you as much as you love them. I'm sure they're all glad you're here."

Charlie half shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I know that, but even so. None of this feel's real to me. This isn't my life. I live in Romania with my dragons, and I have a separate, completely separate, life from here. I came home... I came home not because I wanted to, but because it was the right thing to do. I'm already counting the seconds until I can go back to Romania. Does that make me a bad person?"

"No. At least, I don't think it does. I think you're lucky. You know you're getting out of here, you have a silver light. I guess... I wish I had that. All I can see is pain, and reporters, and people expecting the 'Man-Who-Lived-To-Be-Chosen' or what ever the fuck they're calling me now, to do the right thing. I don't even know what the 'right' thing is anymore."

Charlie stared at Harry for a moment, his head tilted to the side slightly.

"You could come with me?"

"What?" Harry asked, sure he had misheard.

"You could take the portkey with me, back to Romania. We could always use more Handlers, or you could just have a holiday, get your shit together, straighten your head out a bit. Think about it, alright?"

Harry nodded, so dazed at the offer he barely noticed Charlie standing up and patting him on the shoulder, before leaving him to gather his thoughts.

Could Harry really just go? Go to Romania, and... and what? Could he set himself a life, a happy one, free of all the hassle of Wizarding Britain? Could it really be as easy as taking a portkey?

Harry shook his head before he too stood up, shaking the grass from his robes as he headed back to the house to offer whatever form of comfort he could to his friends.

xxxx

A few hours later, Harry stood in the kitchen with Ron and Hermione, talking about anything that meant absolutely nothing, trying to distract themselves from the traumas of the last few days, of the last few years in fact. Harry met Charlie's eyes across the kitchen, and he nodded his head slightly.

Charlie smiled, and raised his glass.

To Freedom.


End file.
